


his hands on your skin

by the_problem_with_stardust



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bubble Bath, Derek Deserves Nice Things, Domestic, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, why is hair petting not a tag??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-10 18:24:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13507245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_problem_with_stardust/pseuds/the_problem_with_stardust
Summary: Friday nights are easily Stiles’ favorite. Sure he has to work a bit later at the station, but the extra hour is bearable when he remembers what – no,who– is waiting at home. Because Friday nights are Derek-and-Stiles nights, no supernatural shenanigans or bored pack members allowed.





	his hands on your skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hale_hounds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hale_hounds/gifts).



> written for [THIS PROMPT](http://coras-lydias.tumblr.com/post/169950904014/lowkey-imagining-stiles-and-derek-having-a-self) that was posted on [@coras-lydias'](http://coras-lydias.tumblr.com/%20) tumblr.

Friday nights are easily Stiles’ favorite. Sure he has to work a bit later at the station, but the extra hour is bearable when he remembers what – no, _who_ – is waiting at home. Because Friday nights are Derek-and-Stiles nights, no supernatural shenanigans or bored pack members allowed.

With a sigh, he drops his keys into the bowl by the door and toes off his shoes. He can hear the low hum of the television in the living room, so he knows Derek is done grading papers for the day. The smell of homemade pizza is heavy in the air and Stiles can feel all of the tension seep out of his bones. If someone told him five years ago that he would end up _here_ , happily married to the man of his dreams, he probably would have laughed and then punched them in the gut.

Loosening his collar and tugging the bottom of his shirt free of his belt, he goes in search of his husband. It’s been almost six months, but Stiles still gets a little thrill whenever he even thinks the word. Derek rolls his eyes fondly every time Stiles manages to work it into a conversation, so he knows he’s not alone in the feeling.

Derek is sprawled on the couch, wrapped in one of the impossibly soft blankets Kira had gotten them for Christmas. He looks up, probably at the stutter in Stiles’ heartbeat, and the soft smile on his lips somehow makes Stiles fall in love with him all over again.

“How was work?”

Stiles leans down for a kiss before answering. “Same shit different day. Dad says we should drop by for dinner again next week.”

Derek hums, lifting the blanket as an invitation to snuggle. Stiles hurriedly strips down to his underclothes and clambers onto the couch, stretching out over Derek’s supernaturally warm body. The sweater under his fingers is old and worn, but Stiles loves the way it sags at the neck and falls past Derek’s fingertips. Seeing Derek comfortable makes Stiles feel comfortable too.

They lay quietly for a while, Jeopardy droning in the background. Every so often, Derek will smooth a hand down Stiles’ spine or nuzzle at his hairline, letting out contented sounds as he scents him. It’s soothing and Stiles finds himself drifting on the edge of sleep.

The beep of the oven timer makes him jump, bumping his nose against Derek’s jaw. Derek huffs quietly and drops another kiss to the top of his head. “Go put some clothes on. I’ll get the pizza.”

So Stiles rolls off of the couch and gathers up his discarded uniform. He makes quick work of slipping into the ridiculous Star Wars themed footie pajamas that Erica had given him as a gag gift. The joke is on her, he loves the pattern of x-wings and death stars, not to mention the fuzzy material that Derek likes to pet absentmindedly while they watch TV.

He thunders down the stairs, then slides into the kitchen. Derek shakes his head and catches him with an arm around the waist before he can slam into the counter. It’s an old routine at this point. One would think Stiles would grow out of skidding across their shiny wood floors, but so far that has not been the case.

Derek passes him a plate already piled high with made-from-scratch pizza and a side salad. Stiles wants to complain about the leafy green stuff, but he knows Derek is just trying to keep him around as long as possible.

“Thanks, babe.”

They settle on the couch in their usual arrangement, with Stiles’ legs draped over Derek’s lap and Derek’s plate balanced on his husband’s shins. Another round of trivia passes as they eat, but Stiles hardly notices. Derek has taken to rubbing a hand over Stiles’ pajama-clad ankle, and the feeling of warmth and contentment calms Stiles to the point of dropping off..

He’s startled awake as Derek gently removes his empty plate from his loose grip. Stiles squints up at him, a dopey smile playing across his lips. “Love you.”

Even after almost a year of hearing those words spoken daily, Derek still manages to look bashful. He trails a hand through Stiles’ hair with pink tinged cheeks and eyes that are crinkled at the corners. “Love you too.”

The dishes end up soaking in the sink because Friday nights are for relaxation only. Stiles can hear Derek moving around the kitchen, humming softly. This is his chance.

He finds the secret stash in record time, throwing himself back into his seat and smiling innocently at Derek. “Movie time?”

Derek sighs. “I actually tried this time. Boyd even came over to help.”

“Awww, don’t feel too bad babe,” Stiles says. “Solving mysteries is kind of my job after all.”

Holding out a hand, Derek looks pointedly at the candy Stiles tried to hide behind him. “At least give me the sour patch kids.”

Stiles tosses the package before pulling out the Reese’s. They are slightly squashed, but Stiles is undeterred.  “So you and your wolfy bff decided that the coffee table drawer was the best place to hide your candy stash?”

“We figured last time we went with obscure, so this time we should go with obvious.”

Last week’s hiding spot was in a decorative vase that lived in their dining room. Stiles still isn’t completely sure where it came from, but it was big enough to hide Derek’s sweets. Too bad moving the vase had disturbed the dust patterns and left a very obvious dust-free crescent on the wood. Maybe their pack needed additional training in the area of subtlety.

Stiles grins. “So what do you say? You wanna take this upstairs?”

“Are you asking me to ‘Netflix and chill’?” Derek’s air quotes are nearly audible and his eyebrows look like they’re trying to climb off his forehead.

The force of his laughter nearly sends Stiles rolling off of the couch. “Oh my god,” he gasps out, clutching the pack of Reese’s to his chest. “Your face!”

Derek frowns, but it’s playful. Stiles staggers to his feet, letting the candy fall to the floor so he can pull his husband in for a lingering kiss.

“I really only meant that it’d be easier to stretch out and relax in bed,” Stiles says when he finally steps back enough to see Derek’s eyes.

There’s a glint of humor there and Stiles’ jaw drops. He sometimes forgets that Derek is as much of a troll as he is.

“And you already knew that, you sneaky bastard.”

Derek snorts, leaning in to drag a stubbled cheek down Stiles’ neck. “Takes one to know one.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Well. Now that we’ve established that we’re still as mature as a couple of middle-schoolers, would you like to go upstairs with me and watch a movie on my laptop?”

“Mmmm. Talk dirty to me.” Derek bites at the skin above Stiles’ collar. Never hard enough to bruise, but always enough to make Stiles shiver.

If Stiles’ knees hadn’t turned to jello at the first touch of teeth, he probably would have marched up the stairs and started the movie himself. Derek laughs quietly, like he’s reading Stiles’ thoughts, and presses a last kiss against his throat. “Take me to bed.”

They end up watching some terrible docudrama about a super volcano and it is so bad, Stiles can barely tear his eyes away. Derek doesn’t seem to have that problem. His head is tucked underneath Stiles’ chin, letting his husband engulf him in a protective embrace, and his breathing is slow and steady.

When Stiles shifts – as quietly as possible – to move the laptop away, he’s thwarted by the crinkling of a candy wrapper. He sighs, but Derek just blinks sleepily and rolls so they are face to face.

“There’s wine in the fridge.”

Stiles hums. It had taken him years to understand Derek-speak, but now he can read the meaning and intent behind every subtle phrase. “If you go get it, I’ll run the bath.”

Derek smiles and clambers off of the bed, following Stiles into the bathroom. It was definitely a space they had splurged on, with heated floors, towel warming racks, a massive glass shower, and a tub that would make any real estate agent cry. Beside it sits a fancy container filled with werewolf-approved bath bombs.

“Which flavor are you feeling tonight?” Stiles doesn’t even have to turn around to know Derek is rolling his eyes.

He brushes his nose once along the back of Stiles’ neck and heads for the stairs. “Surprise me.”

It takes a moment for Stiles to shake himself out of his haze. He closes his fingers over a random bath bomb and decides it’ll do just fine. It’s purple and has a sparkly sheen to it. Probably lavender, but Stiles could be wrong.

Then he fumbles with the electric tea lights, spreading them out across the countertop and along the bathtub ledge. He’d originally gone looking for real candles, but the strong scents and potential fire hazards kept bringing him back to the softly flickering, battery operated ones.

By the time the tub is filled and the overhead light switched off, Derek is back with the wine and glasses. Stiles helps him undress, taking his time with the familiar well-worn sweater and baggy sweats.

When he’s finished, Derek pays him the same attention, slowly skimming him out of his ridiculous pajamas. He trails kisses across every inch of newly exposed skin and Stiles melts, boneless against him.

Slipping into the tub is easy and familiar. Stiles gets in first, careful not to knock down any of the tea lights. He spreads his knees wide enough that Derek can fit between them and rest his head against Stiles’ shoulder, back pressed tightly to Stiles’ chest. Their wine glasses sit on edge of the tub.

Stiles reaches for his and takes a sip. It’s the sweet white wine that Derek likes, a reliable choice since he drinks only for the taste. But Stiles loves it too.

And that is how they end their Friday evening, with Stiles combing his free hand through Derek’s hair and Derek quietly drifting off to sleep, lulled by the sound of his husband’s steady heartbeat.

**Author's Note:**

> every time i'm like 'wow this is the sappiest shit i've ever written' and then i go and out do myself again. sorry y'all.
> 
> come say hello (or throw prompts at me) on [tumblr!](https://theproblemwithstardust.tumblr.com)


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